


Wanna Share It with You

by FourthFloorWrites



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Canonical Character Death, DreadOP Day, Enemies to Lovers, First Kiss, M/M, Mutual Pining, Post-Predacons Rising (Prime Movie), dead characters meeting in the afterlife, speed version
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2020-09-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:07:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26274574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FourthFloorWrites/pseuds/FourthFloorWrites
Summary: Deep in the Well, Optimus runs into a familiar face. Twice over, in fact.
Relationships: Dreadwing/Optimus Prime
Comments: 9
Kudos: 41





	Wanna Share It with You

**Author's Note:**

> @pangolinart on Twitter put together a DreadOP Day and I couldn't not participate ^^ Title is from Hello My Old Heart by The Oh Hellos, because every time I hear it I get emotional about old gay robots.

Heat.

Like the friction experienced by a meteor hurtling down, destined to expire, Optimus flew into the light at the center of his world and felt welcome.

His Autobots had stood under many foreign stars and held under lights curious, interrogative, and revealing, but he knew none would ever hold such presence or penetrate so deeply as the one they all emerged from. It sunk into the seams between plating, prying and leveraging until the gaps yawned and with a _click_ , the excess plating fell away.

And he was a protoform again: delicate mesh and wires and struts exposed to the impossible light. It was _in_ him, sinking between the atoms of his body until they shivered and shook, dancing away from each other. Metal melted, edges dulling and structures collapsing, and drop by drop Optimus felt it all fall away, one billion beads sprinkling away like shards of glass in a night sky.

There was no pain. Not here. Optimus stepped out of his body while it was still partially solid and let all of it fall away, into an abyss he could not see against the light.

And from there he had no way to tell which direction was which, or if he was still moving. All he knew was light, to such an extent that it took him another moment to realize he was seeing it, that even without a body the world around him persisted. He pressed in on himself, felt it out. He considered his name. Time passed, as he explored the boundless confines of his new existence, and he considered for a time whether he might try to close his eyes, or let the light pull him micron by micron into eternity.

As it turned out, he did not need to worry so much about his choice. Time finished passing (which, if he recalled correctly, was not in the nature of the thing, and yet) and he saw a point, what he could only describe as a single unit of contrast against the light. Its darkness grounded him, reminding him who he was and where he had come from (though not for how long he had been away) and he endeavored to draw himself to it by mechanisms it did not occur to him to consider closely.

It was a point, then a spot, then a dot. It developed variation in its tone, darker splotches on the bottom that developed into shadows, its squirming edges sharpening into corners. It took on dimensions, stretched, vertical expanding while the horizontal stayed squashed. Lighter grey tones highlighted the darker: reflections, though he could not tell their source, when every particle between here and there blasted the same white light.

Still, somehow, shadows slid and clipped together, and forming the façade of a simple Cybertronian house. Minimal decorations outside and the windows were closed, but still it had the appearance of a place lived in: a couple of oil cans sat on the front porch, behind two steps that led down to empty, and in one of the upper windows he thought he saw the shine of aged crystal growths. There was also noise coming from inside, voices too dulled to understand.

Directly in front of the building now, he could not see either side and so did not know how far back it extended. He had the impression, though, it was a comfortable size. Only as big as the space its occupants needed, no room for unwanted excess.

His momentum carried him the rest of the way, until he could place his pede on the first step and walk up to the door on his own. He did not need to send a ping, which was a lucky thing, since his comm suite had fallen away with the rest of his processor. The door slid open for him, and he stepped inside.

The gray shading of the exterior persisted inside, clear shadows that built around him the image of a home almost like what one would have found on Cybertron before the war. The metal walls were painted with a matte finish, the seams between them cut with delicate patterns of straight lines and right angles. Like the door, the entry way was large enough to accommodate him twice over, a feature of lower caste residences, but he could feel the hum of complicated circuitry throughout the foundation, optimization the caliber of which only the upper caste could have afforded.

“Optimus!” He startled at the noise. “Stop staring at my walls and come in.”

He stepped walked down the main hallway and turned at the first open door. Within was a sitting room, a couch on one end with a table and chairs closer. Two identical figures sat there, a cube of energon in front of each of them with a third before an empty chair.

“Well?” Dreadwing asked. Skyquake said nothing but stared at the intruder.

“Am I welcome?” He did not know what this place was or what it meant for him to have found himself here, but it clearly belonged to Dreadwing and Skyquake both. He had no wish to insert himself somewhere he did not belong.

“My brother has been waiting for you,” Skyquake said. “It seems that somehow, in the months I missed, you managed to gain his respect.”

Optimus glanced at Dreadwing.

“I would be honored if that were so,” he said.

Dreadwing’s lips twitched and his helm tilted to the empty chair. So much of the way they had spoken to each other in life had been based on the unspoken, it was no surprise it would continue here, where they were stripped to their purest elements.

Optimus stepped inside and took the seat. Sitting here, he faced the windows, but even through the cracks in the shade none of that overwhelming light came through. In here, it was peaceful, comfortable, like it had been designed with the intention that they might stay here for some time.

Dreadwing raised his cube to his mouth.

“How did it happen?” he asked around the rim.

“I sacrificed myself,” Optimus said. “The Allspark was at risk, so I drew it into my own frame and returned it to its rightful place.”

“Then the Well is back online?” Skyquake asked.

“Yes. Cybertron will awaken to new life once more.” He smiled, imagining new beings waking up, drawing themselves to the surface of a world that was theirs to build upon. He wished he could have been there to see it, but with his Autobots to guide them, he knew the next generation would be well looked after.

“And the war?” Dreadwing asked.

“Megatron followed your path, actually,” Optimus said, turning to his former assassin. “He renounced the cause and turned his back on his army. He will not be back.”

But Dreadwing’s lips curled down, and he set the energon back on the table with force. It seemed he had drunk none.

“Do not compare me to Megatron,” Dreadwing said. “He made a mockery of a cause we dedicated our lives to fighting for. I betrayed the Decepticons because to continue supporting them would have gone against my beliefs. If he simply left, then the Decepticons remain a flawed entity, and there is no honor in abandoning something one has the power to change.”

Optimus listened and nodded along.

“I will refrain, if that is what you prefer,” he said. “But if the Decepticons are as far gone as you say, are you sure it is still possible for anyone to change them from within?”

“Megatron could,” Skyquake said. “If any force in the universe were powerful enough, it would be him.”

And Optimus found he could not argue with that, so he nodded and attempted to take a sip of the energon he had been given. It tasted like energon, and he felt the impression of it moving down his intake, but the cube itself did not seem to drain. No matter how long he drank, it seemed to stay at the same level.

So curious he was about the phenomenon that he did not realize how long his silence had passed before he heard snickering. He lowered the cube and looked around: both twins were laughing at him.

“This place operates on its own rules,” Dreadwing explained. “Too many to bother explaining in detail. You will find discrepancies and you will adapt, and eventually it will become as natural as life once was.”

“So, this is death?” Optimus confirmed.

Dreadwing tilted his helm, first to one side, then the other.

“Something like it,” he said. “You will find the specifics don’t matter so much. We are here.”

“And occasionally we are not,” Skyquake said, rising from his seat. His cube, also full, remained on the table.

“You’re leaving?” Optimus asked.

“Stepping out,” Skyquake corrected. “My brother _has_ been looking forward to your arrival.” He grinned, and Optimus turned to catch Dreadwing’s reaction. Too late: his expression had already shifted back to annoyed-neutral.

“I suppose so,” Optimus said. “Your revenge has been achieved, after all. though unfortunately not by your hand.” It was easier than he might have expected to make light of his own demise, or the effort both these mechs had expended to hasten him toward it. Perhaps such things dimply did not matter so much, here on the other side of the Well.

“You think my mission was for revenge?” Dreadwing asked, leaning forward on the table. “For what? Skyquake’s death was just another in a long line of our being separated by Cybertronians who thought themselves worthy of making such decisions. It was a question of honor, Optimus: Skyquake was denied an honorable death, and as his kin it was my responsibility to secure that honor in his name.” He traced patterns on the table as he spoke, like he was drawing the concept of honor and the way it could be passed around like energon siphoned between lines.

“In my estimation, you did,” he said. He glanced at Skyquake. “If you are unsatisfied, though, I would be willing to duel again.”

“Perhaps,” Skyquake said. “If Dreadwing decides you are worthy enough to stay.” He gave them a short bow, then ducked away, disappearing into the same hall Optimus had entered from. He heard a door activate elsewhere and was not sure whether it was to the exterior of the house. It didn’t seem there was anywhere to go out there, but then, he still had a great deal to learn about this place.

He turned back to his remaining host.

“He seemed to imply that I’m being tested,” he pointed out.

“Somewhat,” Dreadwing said, leaning back in his chair. Optimus didn’t think he had ever seen the Decepticon lieutenant _comfortable_ before.

“What is your determination so far?” Optimus asked.

The corners of Dreadwing’s lips pulled up. A grin wasn’t the right work for it, nor a smirk; it was the attempt of a mech who had never tried to form a single cordial relationship in his life to look friendly.

“You are entirely too optimistic, Optimus,” he said. “Don’t you remember the last time we spoke?”

“You handed over the Omega Keys and offered us an opportunity to revive Cybertron under Autobot control,” Optimus said. He could never forget it: the memory often replayed in the last few moments before he fell into recharge.

“I also refused to join your cause or leave my own,” Dreadwing pointed out. “We were enemies for most of our lives, Optimus.”

“And now all those matters rest in our past,” Optimus said. He gestured to the window, though he had no idea which direction the living world lay in. “Cybertron lives again, headed toward a peace founded on the same ideals you fought for. We may not be able to witness it, but we can know that all of our actions, battles fought and sacrifices made, were building to this end.” He glanced to the hallway. “Perhaps it is bold of me to assume, but I feel it worthwhile to ask: have you found happiness?”

He looked back. Dreadwing was watching him, that forced smile eased into something more natural for his handsome face.

“There is no simple way to answer such a question,” he said.

“We have time,” Optimus pointed out. He stood from his chair, taking a moment to look around the room. It was a utilitarian space, but there were a few decorations that betrayed some sentimentality on the part of its owners: image displays on the walls, a mantle with a collection of = stones from other worlds, and a tin of wax that had been left out all contributed to a personal feeling that allowed Optimus to relax a bit more.

For Dreadwing and Skyquake, this place was home, and they had welcomed him into it. Whatever hostility might remain between them, nothing could overshadow that fact.

He made his way to the couch, its back against the windows, and sat down. It was comfortable, though he had no way to know whether that was because of the strange magic of this place, the make of the furniture itself, or the fact that he no longer had a body in which to feel discomfort. Dreadwing remained at the table, and he watched Optimus as he settled, helm rested on one hand.

“I wished to live to see Cybertron’s revival,” Dreadwing said. “I wished to watch if from the air once more, the way its inhabitants moved as if in a perpetual dance.” His hand moved across the surface of the table, imitating traffic. “I was assigned to energon drilling, and occasionally tasked with passing rapid communication between facilities. It was during my flights I started to get a sense of how truly large Cybertron is, and how much was being denied to me and others of my caste.”

“I had a similar experience,” Optimus said. “While working in the archives, I would receive data that indicated a much wider world than I had experienced myself. Until Alpha Trion’s intervention I had no means to reach beyond.”

“So, you understand what a gift it is to behold Cybertron as it lives,” Dreadwing said. “Not everyone does. But I digress, I did not live to witness it, and so in that way I do not know if I can call what I have here happiness. How can I claim a peaceful afterlife if I did not first achieve that which I desired in life?”

It was a valid question. But by the way his wings relaxed down, and how he gazed at Optimus with a look like a familiar friend, it seemed Dreadwing already knew the answer.

“I have spent more consecutive days with Skyquake here than I ever did in life,” he said, ducking his optics. His voice was gentler suddenly, as though speaking too loudly would make his joy obvious and break the spell. “It is what I imagined security must feel like. We part ways, and I know he will always come back; neither of us will ever be forced to choose to leave the other. Even if we had lived to see Cybertron again, any number of things could have intervened to separate us. To exist without that fear is, I believe, what happiness might feel like.”

“Then I am happy for you, old friend,” Optimus said. He smiled and hoped Dreadwing recognized his sincerity.

There was a beat of contemplation, and then Dreadwing stood and approached, broadcasting his movements before he made them. Optimus was not sure the sofa would be wide enough for both of them, but when Dreadwing sat the space was perfect, just wide enough that their knees could have touched, though Optimus kept his own drawn in for now.

“And you?” Dreadwing asked.

“Hm?”

“What will it take for you to find your happiness here?” He was facing forward, but Optimus still got the sense he was being paid attention to.

He turned over the question for a moment, inspecting it, though not too closely. He trusted the Allspark would do him no harm, which meant he trusted Dreadwing and his questions, and wanted to give them as honest an answer as he could fathom.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “It’s not something I’ve considered in a very long time.” This was a good start, though. Knowing that Dreadwing had made it here and found peace gave him hope. He had lived a long life and done so much; he was ready for a place where he could rest.

“If you leave here and wander a bit,” Dreadwing gestured behind them, toward the window, “you will find the Pious Pools, as they were before the channel was blown up and they were drained. Perhaps a walk will give you guidance?”

Optimus misunderstood him.

“Anywhere I could go with you would be a gift.”

That wasn’t a bad thing, though.

By the time Optimus realized Dreadwing had meant for him to go on his own, the latter was already watching him with a smile on his face like it had snuck on and was hiding from him. He leaned closer, hand up to trace a delicate claw over Optimus’ audial.

“If we had lived,” he said, “would you have walked with me then? There was a trail from the lower end of Staniz that led up into the foothills, a dented trail formed by the weight of all the mechs who walked it. A mile out, the city disappeared, and the wind would blow so strong it would threaten to knock you over and send you tumbling back the way you had come. Would you have preserved that path while the rest of Staniz was restored? Would you have walked it with me, allowed me to hold you against the strength of our planet?”

“Why would it not have been me holding you?” Optimus asked, and then what must have been lips, warm lips, were pressed to his own.

He shut off his optics, leaned in, chased Dreadwing when he started to pull away. It did not matter that they were without frames: they kissed, held each other, phantom plating slotting together. Dreadwing had a scent and Optimus locked onto it, archived it, saved it to what might have been the fabric of the Well itself. He trailed his fingers along a ghostly wing and felt a shiver run through Dreadwing, strong enough to break them apart and force their optics back online.

They stared at each other, panting. Optimus did not know his mouth was still open and he wouldn’t have cared regardless.

“You’re beautiful,” he blurted.

And Dreadwing smiled, and there was no fleeing from it, no hiding. He smiled at Optimus, and happiness no longer seemed like such an unknowable thing.

“The wonders of life yet to be lived,” he murmured. And then he kissed Optimus again.

**Author's Note:**

> Apologies if there's anything messy, I fell asleep twice while editing :P I'm also on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/libermachinae) and [Tumblr](https://libermachinae.tumblr.com/)!


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